This or That
by whatarushh
Summary: There was something magical about nights like this, Kate Beckett had always thought. Something about them teased of promise, of the potential for anything to happen. - Based on the now infamous spoiler picture for 3x13!
1. Part 1

A/N: okay, so i usually don't write anything just based on spoilers alone, but that picture that was just released seems to break all rules of physics. did anyone else want to scream when they saw it? i would've if my roommate wasn't asleep! geez, of all the times for her to be napping! lol. as much as i like all the stories i've read about it thus far, i don't think any of them are really plausible (unfortunately!), since it's probably too early to get Castle & Beckett together for real. so the following is a product of me not wanting to study for finals, and the extremely inspirational picture that is now the desktop on my computer. ;)

* * *

It was one of those nights. Almost unseasonably warm for this stage of winter, almost making you forget just how freezing it could be. It was clear and cool and absolutely beautiful, stars faintly dotting the sky, clouds of breath hanging in front of the few people that walked the street at this late an hour. There was something magical about nights like this, Kate Beckett had always thought. Something about them teased of promise, of the potential of anything to happen.

"Sandals or sneakers?"

She sighed and attempted to stretch her legs. It was always during never-ending stakeouts that she lamented being so tall; as much as she appreciated her Crown Vic, it was simply not built to accommodate a 5'9" frame. And four hours in, the current stakeout was going nowhere fast. The first hour had passed in a state of jittery anticipation, expecting to see the man who hired Dick Coonan to kill her mother exit his building at any moment. The second hour was spent coming down from the adrenaline rush, and boredom set in during the third. That was when Castle had asked, completely out of the blue, "paper or plastic?"

She gazed hopefully out at the street again, before turning her eyes once more to the man beside her and answering his question. "Sneakers." She paused, thinking of a question of her own. "Walking or running?"

He sat back in his seat and propped his feet up on the glove compartment, pondering his answer. With a wince, she realized he was 6'2" and could only be less comfortable than she was.

"Running," he finally decided. "That usually means something exciting is happening."

She rolled her eyes. "Question?"

"Yes, right." He thought for a moment. "Twilight or Harry Potter?"

She looked at him incredulously. "Are you serious? Harry Potter!"

"Whew!" he exclaimed, feigning wiping sweat from his brow. "Smart woman!"

"Coke or Pepsi?" she asked, fighting back a smile.

"Coke," he answered without hesitation.

"See, you probably don't mean that. Most people only _think_ they like Coke more, because its brand is so strong."

"Really?" he asked.

"Mhm," she answered, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. "In blind taste tests, most people prefer Pepsi because it's sweeter, but with labels on them, most people prefer Coke—"

"Just because it's Coke," he finished. "That's pretty interesting. How'd you know that?"

"I took a marketing class in college. Your turn to ask again."

"Christmas or Halloween?"

"Christmas. Comedy or drama?"

"Comedy. Noise or silence?"

She smirked. "Silence. Boxers or briefs?"

He groaned. "That's lame, you already know that answer!"

She shrugged. "It's been awhile, I'm running out of questions. Boxers or briefs?"

"Boxers." He smiled, raising a devilish eyebrow. "Boxers or briefs?"

_Oh, two can play that game,_ she thought wickedly. She gave him a sideways look, the hint of a smile playing across her lips. "Boxers."

She let him stew on that for a moment before continuing. "Morning or night?"

"Night," he answered, still looking at her like he'd never seen her before. "Couch or loveseat?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"On who I'm sharing it with. Mickey Rourke?" She shuddered. "Couch. But, say, George Clooney? I would _not_ mind sharing a loveseat with him."

Rick shook his head. "Clooney, that lucky bastard."

She laughed. "Summer or winter?"

"Winter."

That caught her off guard. "Really? You seem like such a summer guy."

"Not at all!" he exclaimed. "I love the beach as much as the next guy, but that doesn't hold a candle to winter. Snow, the holiday spirit, a mug of hot cocoa in front of a fire, 'keeping warm' with someone you love…"

Kate had to stifle the urge to crack a window. Why was it suddenly uncomfortably warm in the car?

"Aquarium or zoo?" he asked.

"Aquarium. Rock or rap?"

"Rock. Phoebe, Rachel, or Monica?"

She laughed. "Ummm… Phoebe. Ross, Joey, or Chandler?"

He grinned. "Chandler. Pancakes or waffles?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me, sir? Wasn't it you that called me lame for asking a question I already knew the answer to?"

He shrugged as if to say 'just answer it!'

"Okay, fine. Pancakes."

He grinned in a self-satisfied sort of way. She rolled her eyes, half in exasperation, half in amusement, and ignored the funny little stutter of her heart. "Facebook or Twitter?"

"Twitter. Speaking of which…"

"Don't you _dare_," she growled as he reached for his phone. "Tweeting about stakeouts is _not allowed._"

He pouted for a moment before asking his next question. "Calling or texting?"

"Calling. Cake or ice cream?"

"Ice cream. Vanilla or chocolate?"

"Vanilla."

"Oooooh, wrong answer," he said, shaking his head sadly.

She made a face at him. "James Patterson or Michael Connolly?"

He gasped. "Oooh, that's _mean!_ Pass!"

She grinned. "Fine, only because I was mean on purpose. Continue."

"Ummm…" he winced as he shifted positions in his seat. "Sitting or standing?"

She groaned and threw her door open; hiding be damned. "Standing."

He followed suit, all too eager to escape the less than roomy confines of the car. Not that a sketchy parking lot across the street from a murderer's apartment was much better, but at this point he'd take what he could get. He hurried around the car to catch up with Kate, who had already begun wandering around the lot to coax blood into flowing to her extremities again.

"Are stakeouts always this much fun?" he asked, matching her stride.

"They vary in their degrees of 'suck,'" she joked.

"Where does this one rank?"

"Well, I usually don't have you to keep me entertained, so in that respect this one is pretty good."

"I sense a 'but' coming."

She sighed. "But I just want this to end." She looked down, and scuffed her toe along the ground. "All of it," she whispered.

"It will," he said softly.

At that moment, something caught his eye from across the street. What he saw made his stomach contract. "Don't look now," he whispered, "but target at 3:00."

She shot him a horrified look. "Are you serious?" she whispered hysterically. "He _would_ come outside when we're not in the car!"

"What do we do?"

"Make him think we're _not_ here to spy on him," she whispered miserably. "Any ideas?"

He stopped walking. "I'm madly in love with you."

She stopped dead several steps in front of him, and spun around to face him, her blood suddenly feeling like lava flowing through her veins. "Excuse me?"

"And you're madly in love with me."

It was as if the wind had been knocked out of her. "I don't really think this is the time—"

"We're newlyweds," he continued, slowly stepping closer to her, "and we came here because this is where we first met."

Her world slowly righted itself as she caught on, though his proximity still left her fingers and toes feeling rather tingly. "And we didn't notice him come outside because…" she swallowed hard as he wrapped an arm around her, placing his hand at her back. "Because all we're paying attention to is each other."

"Exactly," he murmured, cupping her cheek with his free hand. "We're just too infatuated with each other to be paying attention to anything else."

"Exactly." It had started out as a coherent word, but then he'd started gently stroking her cheekbone with his thumb, and it ended up being more of a sigh than anything else. There was a split second in which she thought about being embarrassed, but then he was kissing her and nothing else mattered anymore.

His lips were warm and soft, a delicious contrast to the chill of the air, and his back was firm and solid beneath his coat. Hm, when had she wrapped her arms around him? She tried desperately to drag her mind back to reality and away from the slow dance their tongues were doing, but could only focus on one specific part of reality: Rick Castle was kissing her breathless.

And she liked it. A lot.

Their kisses eventually slowed, and then stopped. They stood there, foreheads touching, as they waited for their breathing to return to normal.

"Is he still there?" she whispered.

"Hold on," he breathed. He straightened up and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. She knew it was a ruse, just a cover under which he could safely look across the street, but she closed her eyes briefly at the contact anyway, and hated herself for wishing this was real.

"He's gone," he whispered against her skin.

"Good." She whispered back. Then reality hit her. "No, not good!" Reluctantly she stepped away from Rick, and shivered at the loss of contact; she didn't remember it being this cold.

"Not good?"

"We were supposed to follow him!" She put her face in her hands.

"Well, under the circumstances, I think we're just lucky he didn't pay too much attention to us."

She sighed. "That's true, but…"

"But what?"

She'd almost said 'but we waited here for four hours for nothing'… but had it really been for nothing? She swallowed hard.

"I don't know," she sighed. "But this is kind of a problem."

And she didn't know if she was talking about the man that was getting away, or the man that was standing in front of her.

* * *

A/N: holy anticipation, Batman! is it January yet? - reviews come with a guarantee of breaking up the hell that is finals week for a stressed college student! :)


	2. Part 2

A/N: i really wasn't going to turn this into anything more than a one-shot. but then i got requests, and, well, we know how that goes. so, the moral of the story is, DON'T ASK ME TO WRITE FOLLOW-UPS! BECAUSE THEN I DO! lol. i have something else in the works that's been put completely on hold because of this, so requesters, feel bad! :P  
i don't know if i'm entirely happy with this. but, considering i wrote it without having any idea what i was doing or where it was going until it got there, i think it came out pretty well. and i didn't want to write the exact same scene twice, so this one is rather thoughtful and flashback-y. because it's Castle's POV, there's stuff going on with Beckett that he doesn't see/pick up on, so that's on you, dear readers. :)

* * *

The ride back to the precinct was a silent one. Rick was having trouble thinking straight, and would glance to the driver's seat every few seconds; he couldn't help himself. Kate had a fantastic poker face, and he knew that, but he was glad to see the index finger of her right hand tapping restlessly on the steering wheel. It was his only clue that something was going on in her head. It gave him a bit of hope that she was a fraction as confused and conflicted as he was.

But, he realized, she may not be thinking about him at all. Her mother's killer had just slipped through her grasp yet again, after all. There was every possibility that she was focusing on how she was going to break the news to the captain, or trying not to cry, or something else that had nothing to do with him.

Or maybe he was being too hard on himself.

He'd tried to be good. The prospect of endless hours in a cold, cramped car at night wasn't especially appealing to him, but he'd known that, as much as she denied it, she would want company over waiting alone. And like hell if he'd be anywhere else. When he followed her to the car she'd tried to tell him he didn't have to come, but he just gave her a look and settled himself stubbornly in his seat. She hadn't argued, and that said more than any 'thank you' ever could. Beyond just being there, though, he didn't know what she'd want. He didn't know whether to talk to distract her, or leave her alone with her thoughts, or what.

The first hour was the worst. She was tense and expectant, bouncing her knees with restless energy and jumping at the slightest noise from the street. Every so often he'd try to start a conversation, but she'd give him one-word answers. Eventually he'd taken the hint and dropped it, but still glanced at her every now and then to make sure she looked okay, at the very least. After about an hour or so, her legs had gone still, and she was the one to speak first.

"_Have you ever lost anyone, Castle?"_

_He looked at her again, but she was still looking straight ahead, rather morosely, he thought. He shook his head. "No. But I did cry for a week when John Lennon died." She smiled slightly, and he took a deep, cleansing breath. _Yes_, he thought,_ she smiles_. "Sorry I can't be of more help, or relate, or… anything."_

_She looked at him. "Don't be. I'm glad you don't know what this feels like."_

_He sighed. "And I'm sorry that you do."_

_She smiled, and looked back out at the street. "Sometimes I wonder what my life would've been like."_

_He hummed in thought for a moment. "Dr. Kate Beckett?"_

_Wrinkling her nose, she shook her head._

"_Kate Beckett, esquire?"_

_She paused. "Nah."_

"…_Reverend?"_

_She burst out laughing. "Good joke!"_

_He mentally patted himself on the back for getting her to laugh, and grinned. "So what've you come up with?"_

_She shook her head in mild disbelief. "Nothing. I have absolutely no idea."_

"_What was your major beforehand?"_

"_I didn't have one, I was undecided." She blew out a breath. "It's kind of weird, ya know? Sometimes I try to imagine my mom being here, but if it weren't for her murder, I probably wouldn't be doing what I'm doing. And that's such a big part of my life. I can't really imagine doing anything else." She smiled sadly. "That was my mom, though. Always trying to help me out. I just kind of wish she didn't have to die to help me figure out what I wanted to do with my life."_

_Silence stretched for a few moments. Rick wasn't really sure what to say. He was heartbroken for her, and touched beyond belief that she would share this with him, and immensely proud (though he really had no reason to be) that she had such a good outlook on things. _

"_What was she like?" he asked softly._

_She looked at him. "What?"_

"_Your mom. What was she like?"_

_He watched her take a deep breath, and was worried when he couldn't read the way she was looking at him. It was as if she was touched that he asked, but couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "Why?" she asked quietly._

"_Well," he said slowly, petrified of saying the wrong thing but knowing that his intentions were good, "We've known each other for two years, and all I really know about her is that she was killed. And I know that's not the legacy she would've wanted to leave behind." When Kate still looked hesitant to say anything, he cracked a smile. "Come on, she must've been pretty great if her daughter turned out the way she did."_

_She blushed, but grinned, and allowed her head to fall back against the headrest of her seat. "She was beautiful."_

He smiled at the memory of the rest of that conversation. He'd meant what he'd said; he could only imagine what Johanna Beckett must've been like to raise such a phenomenal woman as her daughter.

A sharp blast from another car's horn jerked him out of his thoughts.

"What?" Kate exclaimed incredulously to the other driver, looking in her rearview mirror and accelerating. "The light _just_ turned green, you ass hat!"

Rick laughed. "Did you just call him an ass hat?"

She chuckled. "Yeah. I don't really have enough room in my head to deal with bad drivers right now."

He felt the smile fading off his face, and knew he should probably say something about what had happened. But as he opened his mouth to speak, the car was briefly illuminated by a streetlight, and he caught sight of the lipgloss smudged around her lips. His heart clenched almost painfully, and he reluctantly turned to face forwards again, deciding that he was momentarily incapable of words. He lightly touched his lips, and felt the slight, sticky lipgloss residue that was there.

_Her_ lipgloss.

He swallowed hard.

Jesus.

He jumped when she spoke. "Are you okay?"

_Keep it together, man!_ he thought. He looked at her. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?"

"Maybe. But you look like you're physically in pain," she said with a chuckle.

"Nope," he said a little too quickly. "I'm fine. Great. Never better."

She eyed him suspiciously for a second or two. "Okay."

"Seriously though, are _you_ okay?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

She sighed, and glanced at him. "I'm better than I thought I would be in this kind of situation."

He sighed, relieved. "Good."

"I'm not looking forward to explaining myself to Montgomery, though." She shifted nervously in her seat.

"I wouldn't worry about that," he said. "He knows you're brilliant, so if you screw up, you've got some leeway." He noticed she still looked unsure, so he added, "And you know he has a soft spot with you when it comes to your mom."

She sighed, a nonverbal agreement to his statement, but bit her lip nonetheless.

"Hey," he said quietly. She met his gaze. "Everything's going to be fine."

She took a deep breath and finally nodded, smiling slightly. "Okay."

:::::::::::::::::::::::

"Mother?" Rick called, stepping inside his apartment and closing the door.

"In here, darling," Martha answered from her position on the couch.

He shucked his coat off and deposited it on a chair, simultaneously tossing his keys onto the table as he passed it. Making his way into the living room, he dropped onto the couch next to her. "You were a life coach for five minutes once upon a time, right?"

She looked at him strangely. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes. I mean no." He sighed. "I don't know." He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. "Beckett and I kissed tonight." Martha's eyes grew wide, but he didn't notice and kept talking, mostly to himself. "It doesn't seem right to call her Beckett now that we've kissed, does it? I mean, we _should_ be on a first name basis. Right? But I don't even think this was _supposed_ to happen. No, it _wasn't_ supposed to happen. So—"

"Richard," Martha interrupted. He fell silent, and looked at her sheepishly. "Why don't you start from the beginning?"

So he did. From his refusal to let her do the stakeout alone, to their conversations in the car, to their slip-up of getting out of the car, he relayed to his mother nearly every detail he could manage to remember.

"And then…" he took a deep breath. "And then the guy came outside."

"Talk about timing," she groaned sympathetically.

He chuckled wryly. "Tell me about it. So we were all but busted. We had to do something, right? So I sort of… told her I love her."

Her mouth fell open.

"Well, hey, don't judge to fast," he amended hastily. "I told her that we should pretend to be a couple visiting where they first met. That way we could pretend we were too wrapped up in each other to have paid attention to the murderer across the street."

"And?" she prodded.

"And we kissed." He thought back to that moment, that glorious moment in which she was his and he was hers, and his heart clenched painfully again.

"Judging by the lovesick look on your face, I'll assume you enjoyed yourself?" she asked.

"Of course I did," he grumbled, feeling guilty for saying it out loud.

"Did she?"

"I… I don't know," he said hesitantly. "Either she did, or she's a brilliant actress. She certainly didn't fight me." He paused. "It's just… the look on her face when I told her I love her, before she realized it was for cover…"

Martha smiled softly. "You saw something there?"

He swallowed hard. "Mother, I don't know what to do. We're both with other people. We're both _happy_ with other people."

"But?"

"But this… tonight, it just… it felt _real_. I know it wasn't, but at the same time, it… it was."

She took her son's hand and gave it a squeeze. "I can't tell you what to do, darling. But it sounds to me like you have a choice to make."

He ran a hand through his hair. "I know. But if I break up with Gina, and Kate stays with Josh, I'm just looking at a déjà vu of last spring."

"That's a risk you're going to have to take," Martha said honestly. "You just have to figure out if she's worth it."

Rick met his mother's eyes, and he knew she knew what he was thinking: Kate Beckett was always worth it.

Always.

* * *

A/N: if you requested Castle's POV, you're contractually obligated to review. wait, you're not? oh. well, you should be! ;)


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